The Fool
by Scelerata
Summary: The confrontation Cid had been dreading. [2009]


This was Vincent's moment of despair. The miserable confrontation in which he had to face every sin and every demon that festered in the backs of his soul, fed by years of regretful silence. A lesser man would have crumbled, but he just stared forlornly into the crystallized remains of his lost lover, then, in humbled silence, turned, and slowly strode out of the cave, his head hung, leaving eight dear friends to stand in his wake. Every last member of AVALANCHE bore Vincent's heartache for him, as they watched him retreat in sheer misery, but none moreso than Cid, who lingered behind even as the others trailed out to offer their awkward condolences to the broken man.

Cid knew that he should have been the first one out there. If anyone could have eased Vincent's broken soul, it would have been him. They were friends, they were comrades, and though Cid would never understand why or how, they were lovers. What a bittersweet notion it was; like receiving a gift that you knew you didn't deserve, and then being left to wait until the errors were rectified, and were you robbed of it once again. Day in, day out, he waited, wondering when Vincent might finally wise up, and take his desperate affections everywhere, and yet, as the night fell on every tense day, Cid only found himself once again close to the cool, willowy man that he adored so painfully that it burned his blood, and left him flustered.

It looked to Cid, though, as he tilted his head up, and took in the sparkling expanse of the living tomb they had so morbidly stumbled upon, that perhaps, finally, time had run out. The way Vincent had stared so longingly into the mako, beautiful crimson orbs glazed in sheer heartbreak, was as destructive as any bomb to the aging pilot's resolve. The gunman wasn't his, and he never would be. He had been merely borrowing his affections from a tragic heroine of years past, and now, he couldn't even imagine Vincent looking twice at him.

Without thinking, he sunk to the ground, dropping his weight to one knee on the cool, damp stone. He could feel a breeze waft by, whistling through the catacombs from the nearby entrance, and in the distance, he could hear the tinny sounds of his teammates, as they no doubt clamored around the gunner, trying to soothe him. The notion almost made Cid laugh. There was no soothing Vincent, he had learned. You could only let him be, until he decided for himself what might heal his weary heart. Briefly, the thought that he might be able to heal Vincent crossed his mind, but oh, no, he was being an idiot, as he was prone to doing. The only thing that could have ever mended that broken heart was locked in cold mako before the pilot, her prison tomb a testament to all the wrongs that had been committed in Vincent's life.

Absently, Cid tilted his head up to look at her. He wanted to be angry with her, for all she had done, and not done, but as he stared at her unmoving apparition, all he felt was sadness. Overwhelming, smothering sadness, for her, for Vincent, and, as he sickly realized, for himself. The notion of losing Vincent broke his heart.

"He loves y' so damn much." He breathed, staring into her obscured face for some sort of answer to this vast cruel puzzle that fate had thrown at them all. The sound of his own words made his stomach turn, meanwhile, and to keep from getting sick, be buried his face into his broad palms, sighing pathetically. "Y' own his ev'ry breath, an' meanwh'le, I…"

His voice trailed off, and he shook his head, lurching it back upwards. His blue eyes were glazing, and he could feel the burn of tears pricking his eyes.

"…I'm just th' idiot who loves 'im."

In the background, the sounds of his teammates died out, and Cid was left to listen to only the shrill serenade of the bitter wind. Throat tight, he couldn't bear to face her any longer, and turned his head away, his tired eyes training on some unidentifiable shadow in the far distance. He focused on it as if it might be God itself stretching out across the barren floor, and prayed silently for anyone who might be listening to spare him from the inevitable. In the echoing void of the chasm, a haunting sound picked up that made him flinch. It was an ominous whisper; a sad song from a forlorn soul.

It was Lucrecia.

'What would you sacrifice for him?', it chanted in it's melancholy tone. Cid flinched, and turned further away from the penetrating presence. Even more than he hated to face reality, he hated to face her. What could he possibly say to pale her, what could he give that would be enough to shadow her lasting memory? Nothing. He could give absolutely nothing, and yet…

"Ev'rythin'." He muttered, feeling awkward, and like a fool. "I'd give ev'rythin'. An' it'd still nev'r be 'nough. He'd still d'serve better."

There was a sound like shattering glass, and Cid realized with no pleasure that she was laughing at him. A full, unhindered laugh, as if she might've heard the funniest joke ever told, but then, hadn't she? What was this romantic charade, but a joke? A poorly executed joke, and Cid, he was the punch line.

'You are a better lover than I could have been.', she assured suddenly, and her words caused Cid to snap to a confused attention. Bleary eyed, lines of stress etched in his face, he stared ever blankly at her crystallized remains.

'It's tragic to admit…' Her voice serenaded, coiling around the gruff man like a satin sheet. 'But back then, I could never have afforded him such devotion.'

"Y' coulda saved his life." Cid admitted slowly, his thick southern drawl laced with the most intense sadness. Like a bell, the forlorn maiden laughed again, her voice adorned with the same tender misery as his.

'I could have save many lives.' She admitted regretfully. 'But Vincent was never one of them. I could have never given him what he so desperately wanted.'

Cid fell silent as he contemplated her heartbroken words, and in the quiet lull, the sound of footsteps was heard. At the soft, metallic sound, the very air of the cavern came alight with a bittersweet, jovial buzz that sent pinpricks across Cid's skin.

'You're the one to save him now.', came the sad, sweet whisper of the wind in the blonde's ear, and then, as if the very breath had been sucked from the chest of a beast, the life of the cavern was gone, giving way to a hollow emptiness, broken only by the gentle flutter of red that encased the most gloriously broken of souls. Cid could feel the painfully familiar presence hover over his shoulder, and with false courage, he titled his head back to look up at his ill-gotten prize; his eternally wilted rose.

"Everyone…everyone is waiting on the ship." Vincent said simply, his eyes trained on the now empty shell of mako crystals that lit the room in it's brilliant glow. Their soft mint hue reflected in the glass-like surface of his eyes. Chest heavy, Cid watched him hover above him, unmoving, before heaving a heavy sigh, and returning his own gaze to where the gunner's beloved scientist had only moments before glittered in her glorious suffering.

"Came t' say one last g'dbye?" He questioned, and though he couldn't see it, Vincent's face contorted. With swooping, graceful motions, the older man sunk to his knees behind Cid with a soft, almost exhausted thud. He wrapped both arms around his lover-his gruff, tired, perfectly unperfect lover-and sighed, the very sound of his breath that of pure, desperate misery.

"I came back to find you, chief." He whispered into the crook of his neck, and Cid could feel his heart flutter sadly at the way his voice quivered oh so slightly as it pronounced the distantly affectionate pet name. Gently, Cid layered a hand over the pale forearm tucked under his chin.

"Dumbass." He snapped, voice alight with a sad, contrived laugh. A choked, dry sob, laced with equally contrived laughter, escaped Vincent's lips, as the lithe man pressed ever closer to his rough beloved. Gently, Cid squeezed his arm, as tired, delightfully confused tears finally broke past his defenses, staining his cheeks in rivulets, and gathering around his peppered stubble. Letting them run free, he listened quietly to Vincent's sobbing laughter, the manic sound nonsensically answering every painful question that had puzzled him. The gracefully ungraceful solutions offered to him was nothing he would ever understand, but at least he knew that everything he had ever thought about Vincent was true.

Ultimately, the ghostly sinner would find just what it was that was going to save him.


End file.
